by Gina Whitney
I finally was down to my stretched-out socks and thought it would be smooth going from there. Wrong. I was faced with all these gray bins, and realized I had to dump all my shit in there. But there was a problem: I couldn’t be separated from my wand, and it was in my bag. I didn’t know if the screener would see it as a weapon or some other kind of threat. What if they decided to search the bag? No one was to touch my wand except for me. I stood totally still for a moment, internally freaking out over what to do.
That was when a loud bitch behind me said, “Fuck, I hate flying with retards.” With that I snapped back into reality and put my bag and shoes in a bin. Off they went on the conveyor.
“You have to put them in separate bins,” an authoritative voice snarled.
With no time to look for the voice’s origin, I raced back to the beginning of the conveyor, bouncing into whiney-ass people along the way. I separated my items and proceeded to go through the body scanner. I could no longer see my bag, and those few seconds seemed to last forever.
I emerged from the scanner and found that my stuff was still in the X-ray. And the conveyor had stopped. The screener was keyed in on my bag. She leaned in to the monitor; her eyes narrowed, and the corner of her mouth suspiciously rose. She waved someone over—a little woman with a nametag reading “VALEZ.” It was plain to me that Ms. Valez had much attitude, and I didn’t want to deal with her.
The closer Valez got to that monitor, the more I chewed the inside of my mouth. My eyes got large, and I started blinking hard. I concentrated, trying to change the outline of the wand’s image to something else. The screener pointed at the monitor. Before Valez could look at it, my magic concealed the shape of my wand.
“Look at this. Tell me what you think,” the screener said. Then she and Valez looked at the monitor. Only small containers of shampoo and lotion appeared in the bag. A perplexed look fell over the screener’s face, but she shook it off immediately and started the conveyor again. However, Valez looked straight at me.
After I grabbed my shoes and bag, I could see her looking past but pointing at me. I looked back and saw the lurking TSA agent nodding. Valez motioned to me.
“Ma’am, could you come here please?”
“Yes,” I said.
“I have to check your bun.”
“My bun?”
“Your hair.”
Oh, yeah. I had put my hair up in a tiny bun on top of my head. I hadn’t felt like washing it that morning, and just piled it up. Valez put on gloves and poked and prodded my dirty mess. I didn’t have Snookie-type hair, and my bun was the size of a golf ball, so this should’ve been quick. However, Valez’s spidey senses were activated just like the podium agent who had checked my license. Her thin lips disappeared as she spent an inordinate amount of time searching my hair.
Witch? Terrorist? Drug mule? I wondered which one she thought I was. I could understand how a person could confuse the three. Snark.
“So, where are you traveling to?” Valez asked.
“Los Angeles.”
“What’s in Los Angeles?” She asked, still poking at my hair.
Shit. I was being interrogated. Valez just knew I was up to no good, and she was determined to find out what my plans were.
I held my bag close to me. “I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong?”
“I’m going to have to pat you down. Do you agree?”
Okay, I’d dated Rafe long enough to know when someone was trying to pull a mind fuck on me, and Valez’s question was a trick. If I refused, she would try to humiliate me or claim I must have had something to hide. I decided to play along, only because I wanted to get out of security as fast as I could. “Sure, whatever.”
Valez snapped the cuff of her glove as if she were about to perform a rectal exam. “I will be using the backs of my hands to touch your crotch and buttocks.”
Sure… That makes having you all up in my stuff that much better.
“Fine,” I said.
Valez molested me twenty different ways and still found nothing. I tried to use my magic to get her off, but it flaked out on me. “May I go now?”
“No,” said Valez. She wasn’t near done yet. “Follow me.” She called over to another TSA agent—an older gentleman who looked like every day was just a hindrance to his retirement.
“Swab her,” Valez instructed him. Now, I admit, with my fear of flying and going to meet the notorious Three Sisters, I might have looked a bit intense that day. But come on now. Swabbing me?
The old man was burned out. He couldn’t even fake interest as he said, “Put your palms forward, please.” Valez stood to the side, salivating. And by some miracle, no explosives were found. Go figure.
Frustrated, and with much reluctance, Valez told me I could go. I hurried up and got the hell out of there before she changed her mind and decided to do a cavity search. She watched me as I headed toward the gate. Even though I was trying to save the human race, I would let Catherine eat the shit out of her ass.
As it happened, I was the second to last passenger to board, thanks to buying a ticket at the very last possible moment. This airline had no assigned seating, so I knew I would be stuck with a crappy seat.
The walk down the vibrating, claustrophobic Jetway was already making me queasy. I was so glad to see the lithe flight attendant with the syrupy voice. Like a nodding robot, he said to each passenger, “Welcome aboard.”
With a right turn, I faced a cabin filled to capacity. I stretched my neck out to see how far back the line went. It didn’t look like it had an ending. Like the Jetway, the plane was vibrating under my feet. I started having visions of barf bags.
The movement of the line was stop and go through the tight-fitted fuselage. Every time we abruptly stopped, the erect penis of the man behind me stabbed me in the back.
After waiting patiently for the other passengers to force their luggage into the overhead compartments, I was saved from Mr. Penis, as he disappeared somewhere on the plane. I found a place to sit two rows up from the rear restroom. My seatmate, a businessman sitting on the aisle, had his tray down for some quick work.
“Excuse me,” I said, pointing at the other seat. He sucked his teeth and put up his tray, but he didn’t stand up to let me pass. I had to squeeze by him, and accidently stepped on his foot. And he grouchfaced me.
Motherfucker, why didn’t you just move in the first place?
The turbulent flight was everything I’d expected it to be—absolutely atrocious. My Dramamine kicked in too late, and I ended up monopolizing the toilet, chucking up in-flight peanuts and ginger ale. The few times I was at my seat, the businessman and I jockeyed for position over the armrest. I nearly had a panic attack due to feeling so out of control.
Never mind Catherine’s evil ways. Hell, I wanted to kill her just for making me go through all this bullshit.
Landing couldn’t come soon enough. After debarking I went to baggage claims, where I was to meet a driver sent by the Three Sisters. I looked through a sea of cardboard signs and caught sight of one with the initials GV on it. A young male held it up—a model type. I thought the sisters must have been hideous if they couldn’t even come out in the light of day to pick me up.
I ended up in the backseat of a stretch limo headed up the 405, to a few blocks off Sunset going toward Holmby Hills. We went up winding, narrow canyon roads, passing other mysterious limousines along the way. From what I could tell, the neighborhood was populated by only gardeners and nannies.
The limo arrived at a black-gated entrance at the bottom of a hill. The property was surrounded by a brick wall that, along with bushy trees, hid it from prying eyes. The driver pressed the gate opener, and we entered the grounds. A gargantuan building loomed in the distance.
“Why is there a hotel in the middle of a residential neighborhood?” I asked.
“This is the house, Mademoiselle. Welcome to Eternity Hill.”
“Well, Goddamn.”
He drove the car halfway around a g
raveled, circular drive that enwrapped a marble fountain, then parked directly in front of the castle-like manse, a celebration of Baroque architecture. The house featured a domed tower, with its central entrance three floors below. Grayish columns accented the otherwise flat-faced front. The house had no sharp edges, only rounded corners. The expansive landscaping looked more like a gigantic botanical maze than a yard.
The driver helped me out of the limo like I was royalty, even with my ratty suitcase.
“Here you go,” I said, offering him a five-dollar tip.
“That is not necessary, Mademoiselle.” Instead of taking the money, he went up the grand stairs, and I followed him. He did not knock, but the door opened anyway. No person was present, just a hyper, young voice. “Oh, you made it!”
Seemingly out of nowhere, a platinum blonde appeared, sucking vigorously on a Dum Dum lollipop. From the smell I figured it was cream-soda flavored.
“You can take Grace’s things upstairs,” she said to the driver, who took my suitcase. I held on to the bag that contained my wand.
The young woman appeared to be about twenty, but acted twelve. She wasn’t shy about her body either. Her outfit consisted of a tight tank top, a plaid miniskirt, and knee socks. She was short, but stood average height on high, cork-heeled platforms. She was a real-life anime character. But she had two distinguishing characteristics. First she looked to be about five months pregnant. Second she had something wrong with her left eye. It jumped all over the place. She grabbed me as though I were her long-lost friend.
“Ooh…welcome! We are so excited to meet you, Grace,” she said.
“Likewise…uh…”
The young woman hit herself on the forehead. “Oh, yeah. I didn’t tell you my name. It’s Sarine.” She rubbed her belly. “This here’s Lily.”
“Nice to meet you, Sarine.” I looked down at her preggedout pooch. “You too, Lily.”
Sarine had that weird, flirty-girl sashay. She exaggerated the up and down movements of her gait to make her ponytail swing from side to side. I thought it was dumb when girls did that, but from what I’d heard, Sarine was no ordinary girl. She was one of the Three Sisters. I kept a close watch on her as her large hoop earrings swung off the side of her face.
“Did you eat? I know that airport food is very expensive,” she said.
“Just some peanuts and ginger ale.”
“Well, come on now. I’ll get you fed.”
Man, that Sarine didn’t waste any time. I followed her through the house, which on the inside looked more like a church. There was what appeared to be belladonna in every corner. The checkered floor was a nice contrast to the grand, arched doorways. Electric stars dotted the walls throughout, while a replica of Michelangelo’s The Creation of Adam adorned the ceiling.
Sarine looked over her shoulder like she was so thrilled to see me. However, I could only focus on her crazy eye. That damn thing was dancing.
She said, “You can imagine how surprised we were to hear you were coming. Evelyn was so secretive. She said she you need something from us? For the life of me, I don’t know what she’s talking about.” Sarine paused. “Your mother told you to come, didn’t she?”
I didn’t want to give her too much information, and braced up. “So are you and the father excited about the baby?”
“Father? Oh, I never talk to him.”
A multitude of servants dipped in and out of rooms, and none of them looked at us. They were dressed in old-timey maid’s outfits, with long, white aprons covering their black dresses. Black stockings and Mary Janes completed the look.
To the right of yet another arched entranceway was a sunken kitchen. It was a gourmet’s delight, jam-packed with the latest and greatest in large and small appliances. As I rubbed my hand across the Electrolux stove, I looked out of one big window. And when I say one big window, I mean the entire wall was a window that opened up to a courtyard.
Sarine, so unaffected by all the opulence, indifferently opened the fridge. She presented me with three white, paper-wrapped options straight from a professional butcher— free-range turkey, Virginia ham, and prime rib.
My mouth watered, and my fangs tipped out a little bit at the glorious smell of that meat. “All of it sounds so good. I don’t know what to pick.”
“Why not pick it all? A super-sub!”
Sarine made my sandwich. She set out the mustard and homemade mayonnaise along with heirloom tomatoes and watercress. She even put some gherkins and dirty potato chips on the side. This was served to me on some bone china that had to have been handed down from Mount Olympus.
I didn’t even bother sitting before sinking my teeth into that sandwich. Mayo and mustard dripped luxuriously down my chin, and Sarine wiped them off of me.
“I know. It’s good, right?” she said. She went right back to the fridge and took out the components for her own California-chic salad.
“Where are the others?” I asked. I barely finished the question before I heard someone coming in, shuffling their feet.
“Speak of the devil. Here’s my sister,” Sarine said. A morose female came into the kitchen, dressed in some sort of black smock and barefoot.
“This is my older sister, Clea,” Sarine said, beaming.
Clea glared at me. Her head was shaved, with a little peach fuzz on top, and she was slightly overweight. She had perpetual dark circles under her eyes and a just-sucked-a-lemon expression. I figured she must have been adopted, since she was Asian. She too had eye issues like Sarine, but more profound. She had no left eye at all. No socket or anything. There was just smooth skin where an eye should’ve been.
With a mouthful of salad, Sarine said, “Clea, don’t be rude. Say hi. This is the one who’s causing all the fuss with the witches.”
“Why is she eating all our food?” Clea asked. She went straight to the fridge and started taking account on how much was left.
Sarine shoo-shooed the situation. “Never mind Clea,” she said to me. “She’s just a big, old grumpy pants.”
Meanwhile, Clea took out a permanent marker and drew lines on the milk and juice containers to mark how much was left.
I tried to blow off this way-too-obvious diss. “This house is huge. How many bedrooms do you guys have?”
Sarine put her finger to her cheek. She was mouthing numbers and having a hard time remembering. “I don’t know. Twenty-two, I guess. Who counts?”
A piece of tomato fell from my sandwich to the spotless floor. Clea’s one eye twitched really hard about that.
Sarine caught on. “Grace, why don’t you have a seat in the nook?” She led me around a separating wall to the supposed breakfast nook. This space was large enough to house a twelveseat dining room set. The table was adorned with two gigantic, feet-high vases and a damask runner. The tapestried chairs looked like seating for heads of state.
“Dude, seriously, you really eat here?” I asked. I so tried not to goo goo too much.
Sarine gave Clea a mischievous look. “All the time.”
I sat on the end chair and took to finishing my sandwich. Sarine and Clea stood rather close to me and watched with intense interest. With every bite they looked so fascinated, like I was some beast at the zoo.
To make them back up off me, I decided to rely on a social blooper. “So, how much is your mortgage?” I asked. This rude question most definitely would insult them, and they would storm away, leaving me and the sandwich to have some alone time.
However, Sarine took it in stride. “There is no mortgage. Daddy got the house for us a long, long, long time ago.”
“Your daddy must have some hellacious money,” I said.
Sarine replied, “We guess you could say that.”
I looked out the window at the gardener who was maintaining the courtyard’s koi pond. “What’s it like to be one of you?” I asked rhetorically as I also admired the ivy growing tall along the courtyard walls.
“It’s lovely. Unlike witches, we don’t have to get involved in
human affairs. Ultimately, whatever happens to them is no never mind to us,” Sarine answered.
My mind was reeling. One thing was certain: the Three Sisters were not witches. However, Sarine spoke as though they weren’t all human either.
“So what exactly are you?” I asked, trying to act as blasé as possible.
“Well…” Sarine said, “we are…”
Right then one of the maids rushed in. “Madame Gem is home,” she said with a curtsy.
Clea and Sarine straightened up like devilish students do when the principal is coming.
“Time to meet Gem,” Sarine said. She offered me a linen napkin and wiped the side of her own mouth, indicating I had mustard crusted up on mine.
I followed Sarine and Clea to the den. We passed many Gustave Dore-like paintings that seemed to be telling a story. But we were in too much of a hurry for me to figure it out.
Sarine and Clea entered the massive den first.
“Dear sister, we’re so glad you’re back home,” Clea said with adoration. Was this their sister or their ruler?
“Grace Valois is present,” Clea finished. She stepped off to the side, and, with a move resembling a bear clawing, ushered me in.
The two-storied room smelled of fading incense with a barely noticeable undertone of charcoal. Walls of humongous cherrywood panels enclosed an elegant French Renaissance décor. There was no overhead lighting, just floor and table lamps delicately illuminating the room. I was hesitant even to put my nasty high tops on the expensive, room-sized Oriental rug.
Sarine nudged me. “This is going to be so good.”
I moved deeper into the room, looking for this awful creature to jump out at me. However, the door to a dressing room opened and a tall, twiggish figure glided into view. The figure was backlit, and presented itself by dramatically putting both hands on the sides of the door frame. The figure’s Kimonosleeved dress made it look like a gigantic butterfly.
The figure then spoke with a beautiful soprano voice. “Well, hello there, darling!”